


bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

by Cockbite (personalized_radio)



Series: NSFW/PWP [7]
Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: First Time, Knotting, M/M, Wings, spn au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/Cockbite
Summary: fic trade with @myriadus!!!some sweet sweet brett/asher smut from her spn au!!asher (an angel) and brett (a werewolf) have their first time together





	bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myriadus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadus/gifts).



> thank you to @hrtbnr for betaing my shitty fic and helping me not look like as big a fool as i really am in front of all my other friends. i didnt double proof read before posting bc i dont wanna read this much and also ive been working on this for a week so any mistakes u see are mY FAULT AND IM SORRY BUT IM A WEAK BITCH ok then u i hope u like it <3
> 
> you can find me [on Tumblr](https://cockbite.tumblr.com/)! i post fake/gta!au :)

There is a lot about humanity that Asher still has not quite got a grip on yet. Human society has so many complexities, each culture so infinitely different from even the one only an imaginary border away. He, who helped Eve brush her hair and gathered animals for Adam to name, who shed tears for Lucifer at Anna’s side while her brothers argued, could not hope to understand them all, not even the one he was surrounded by. Trevor helps, even if he occasionally laughs, and Asher does as much reading as he can. He watches a lot of television with Aleks and Lindsey is never one to refuse sitting him down and catching him up on the latest news in popular media. He tries, and that is why he knows he has a list of things he needs before he can commence his plan. 

“You will tell me, won’t you?” Anna had asked, head on his chest, her wings cocooning them both in a blazing warmth not unlike Heaven, “What it’s like? I would want to try it, if you like it.”

“I will,” he’d promised, fingers carefully picking through the wing covered in great feathers of the birds long extinct from the earth. All eight of her wings were beautiful, but he had to admit the ones of feathers were his favorite. He’d woven them himself, with thread he’d hand-spun from fibers and feathers collected from Eden. She’d sat for him, overlooking the hole ripped through Heaven where Lucifer had fallen as he’d worked needle and thread and feathers until the bottom pair were shimmering with the colors of her favorite species’. And if he’d worked in a few of the burnt feathers he’d pinched from around where Lucifer Fell, none but the two of them knew.

“Flowers and chocolate are general courting gifts,” she’d reminded him, and then sent him off. 

He’d collected the flowers, a bouquet that James had helped him put together because James knew what each meant and Asher did not, even if he had been there when the ancestor of each bloom had been placed upon the earth, and Trevor had given him the currency necessary for a box of chocolate and now he is ready. 

“Um,” Brett says when he opens the door and Asher offers the box to him.

“Brett,” Asher says, because he knows he should be forward, “I want to have intercourse with you. Because we share similar romantic feelings, I know that it is generally expected that we go on a date beforehand but I didn’t know if previous outings with Trevor counted. I brought you chocolate and flowers in preparation for if they didn’t. Dude.”

“Hey, so,” Brett blinks twice, lightning fast, and did not reach for either the box or the flowers, “Nice to see you, too, man. It’s eleven at night on a Tuesday.”

“I was here around eight,” Asher says, “But I didn’t know if knocking on your door was okay or if I should call you first but I forgot my phone at home, so I waited for you to come out but you didn’t.”

Brett blinks again, but his lips finally pull up into a bit of a smile. He leans against the door frame, crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks Asher over once.

“You’ve been…standing outside of my house for three hours? And…You dressed up.”

“You generally dress up for dates.”

“You also generally ask someone before the date if they want to go on a date.”

“I’m…asking now?”

“A couple hours, if not days, in advance, my man.”

“Oh.” Asher frowns, disappointed. “I…will come back later.”

“Wait,” Brett runs a hand through his hair, standing up and moving so that his door is open, “Come in. Let me just get all of this straight.”

Asher, legs a little stiff, marches through his door and into his house. Asher has been to Brett’s home multiple times, but never really on his own. Anna or Trevor are with him, usually, or Brett comes out and meets Asher on the sidewalk. It is not intimidating, because Asher is older than the ground on which this building is built, but he can’t say that he does not have tension keeping his shoulders square as he pauses in the living room and turns around to face Brett. Looking now, perhaps the flowers were a bit much. James had made a visually striking bouquet that he assured Asher anyone would like, but Brett was a druid and it could be that cut blooms offended him. And had Asher checked if this chocolate was ‘vegan’? 

He turns the box over in his hands and brings the packaging label up to read and scans the ingredients until Brett clears his throat loudly enough to make him look up.

“Before I even start,” Brett holds up a finger, “Most of the time, you don’t preface asking someone out with letting them know you’re only doing it so you can get into their pants.”

“But,” Asher starts, only for Brett to hold up a second finger and talk over him.

“Secondly, saying that in the open air where anyone could hear you is also kind of a pass.”

“I’ll remember,” he says, trying not to look confused. He doesn’t particularly understand the shame that humans surround themselves with in regards to sex, but he also doesn’t want to make Brett uncomfortable. He holds out the chocolate again, “I’m sorry. No animals were harmed in the production of this chocolate, so please accept it as an apology gift.”

“…thanks,” Brett accepts, finally taking the box and then looking at the flowers. There is a brief flash of dismay, Asher really should have thought the flowers through more, but he accepts the bouquet, too, and then nods to the couch because both hands are full. “Go have a seat, okay? I’m just gonna put these in a vase. They’re, uh. They’re nice.”

“James built it to promote virility and romantic compatibility.”

“Remind me to thank him,” Brett says, voice amused, and that is enough for Asher to release some of the tension in his shoulders. Brett rarely snaps at him, but Asher knows that courtship is delicate work. He is here, currently, in the pursuit of intercourse, but only as the next step in the relationship that he and Brett, he had thought, were currently building together. By this time in his relationship with Trevor, they had been physically much closer than he and Brett, and it was a point of worry for him that they were not at a similar level yet.

He does as told, sitting on Brett’s couch and laying his arms out in an approximation of relaxation, reclining and looking around to take in the room while he waits.

Brett returns shortly, wiping his hands on his lounge pants. He is dressed for bed, a loose sleeveless undershirt and a long pair of flannel pants, white slippers designed to mimic a rabbit with floppy ears and buttons for eyes, his hair unkempt. Asher sees now, why he should have come up earlier. Something had kept him downstairs, a weight in his stomach he hadn’t understood, that was still there, that he’d only fought past because he knew that midnight might be too late for a date.

“Okay,” Brett sits on the opposite side of the couch, folding his leg under himself so that he’s facing Asher and, after taking a second to analyze his position, Asher mirrors it so that he is facing Brett, too. “Now, explain again. You want to have sex? I thought you only wanted to do that with Trevor and Anna.”

“I do want to have sex with Trevor and Anna,” Asher says immediately, sitting up straighter. “But…we are also in a relationship. Right?”

“Right,” Brett nods, “But that doesn’t mean we have to have sex. I’m not upset if you only want to do that with them.”

Asher frowns, his chest twisting a little in unhappiness, “Do you not want to have sex with me?”

Trevor always goes pink when they talk about sex, but Brett doesn’t even really flush at all. Instead, he frowns thoughtfully and leans forward, puts a hand over Asher’s and Asher’s heart picks up the tempo of its beating so suddenly that it’s a little shocking. 

“I’m attracted to you. I’d like to have sex with you, if that’s what you want. But we don’t have to, just because we’re in a relationship. It’s okay if you just want to hold hands and kiss. It doesn’t have to be more than that, with me, if you want to just do those things.”

Oh. Oh. 

“You think I don’t want to have sex with you?”

“Ash, you’ve never really expressed an interest in me sexually before.”

“Okay, Brett,” Asher turned his hand over to tangle their fingers together, deciding to be more forward, “I will express an interest in you. I’m sorry if it seemed that I wasn’t interested before, Trevor and Anna are both much more willing to take the lead in these situations but I understand that you need more verbal expressions.”

“I mean, if you want to have sex, I hear you, we can just -”

“Brett,” Asher continues, warming to the idea, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Just - just, we can, uh, just -” Brett stutters, eyes going wide, “Jee-sus.”

“Brett,” Asher reprimands, “Do not -”

“Sorry,” Brett swallows, “Sorry, you just, uh, surprised me there, bud.”

“You wanted verbal confirmation that I want to have sex with you.” Asher points out, “I want you to fuck me. Trevor says that you are very good and that your penis functions differently from other males because you’re a lycanthrope. You have a knot. I want it.”

Here, that word seems to be the trigger because Brett’s faces goes red, his eyes going wide and his mouth falling open. He’s speechless for a few seconds and Asher takes the time to look him over for clues. Asher isn’t as good at reading Brett as he is at reading Anna or Trevor yet, but he’s better at it than trying to read a stranger. Brett is very visually open about his emotions, his mouth and eyes say a lot just from how he shapes them. He’s surprised, and embarrassed, but Asher isn’t totally sure why. He’d asked for confirmation and Asher was just repeating what Trevor had told him. Did Brett not like to talk about his knot? Was talking about knotting another social faux pas that Asher hasn’t been told about? Or maybe Brett didn’t want to knot Asher, even if he was willing to have sex with him. 

“Asher,” Brett finally says, voice higher than before, “You can’t just - that’s -”

“Do you not want to knot me?”

“Okay,” Brett breathed out slow and Asher could see him forcibly calm down, “It took Trevor and I almost a month of preparing to get him to…take that.”

“The knot?”

“Yes, damn it, the knot, it took a long time. You aren’t going to be able to take it your first time with me.”

“Brett,” It was Asher’s turn to pat his hand, “I am an angel of the Lord. My vessel is inhabited by my Grace, which protects me from permanent harm. You will not seriously hurt me, least of all with your penis.”

“It’s not about seriously hurting you,” Brett frowns again, “I don’t want to hurt you at all. Especially not our first time together.”

“What if,” Asher hesitates, not quite sure how this will be received, “I want to be hurt?”

He watches the way Brett stares, the sharp inhale like he’s been punched, the way his broad shoulders tense up a little and his mouth presses together into a thin line. 

“Elaborate,” Brett finally says, the fingers tangled in Asher’s suspiciously loose as his other hand is clenched to near whiteness on his leg.

“I don’t,” Asher glances to the side while he thinks, tries to put things into words, “Sometimes, when I am with Anna, she will not be gentle and I like that. When she pinches my chest or holds my hands down. Sometimes, Trevor forgets to be careful and it…hurts? But I like it? Does that make sense?”

“So this sudden desire to get with me is because you want me to hurt you?”

“No!” Asher snaps his eyes back to him, wounded, “You keep saying that this is a sudden desire, but it isn’t! At first, I just wanted to be with Trevor but my feelings for you are no less than my feelings for him. I want to have sex with you! I’m saying that you do not need to worry about hurting me, because I like being hurt.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Brett puts a hand up in surrender, but he relaxes a little bit again, “Okay. Here’s the deal; it’s gonna be midnight soon, and I’m tired as fuck. How about you stay the night with me, huh? We can sleep on it and we’ll revisit this in the morning. If you still want to try it, we can…maybe try it.”

“Don’t we need to go on a date first?”

“We’ve been on dates, Ash,” Brett reminds him, and smiles again for the first time in a while, “Not that we can’t go on a date. We can talk about that tomorrow, too.”

“Okay,” Asher agrees, “We can talk tomorrow. I will sleep out here?”

“Or you could…join me?” Brett offers, stroking the back of his hand with a thumb. “You want to?”

“Yes,” Asher nods immediately, “Yes, I want to. I want…to be closer to you, independent of our relationships with Trevor or Anna.”

Brett gives him another look, a little shy, as he stands up and tugs Asher with him and Asher happily follows along. While not quite what he’d planned, this is perfectly acceptable. He just…would like to be close to Brett, even if just while he slept.

“Lemme get you something to wear. You fill the jeans out nice but they won’t be comfortable to lay around in for long.”

“I’ll be fine,” Asher protests, but Brett waves him off and pulls open a drawer and pushes a few things out of the way until he pulls out another pair of pants similar to the lounge pants he is wearing. 

“You want a shirt?” he asks, to which Asher shakes his head. He doesn’t sleep, he would not have noticed any discomfort, but it warms his insides that Brett had thought of him. 

“I’ll turn around,” Brett says, already turning to face the opposite wall, “You can just leave your clothes on the floor or something; I don’t think it’ll matter much.”

“Okay,” He repeats and then unbuttons his shirt and pushes his jeans down. They’re tight, skinny jeans, and they catch around his ankles but he bends down and pulls them off properly, and then pushes his boxers down, too, before pulling the lounge pants on. 

“You can look,” He says when he’s clothed again and Brett turns around, pulling his own shirt off as he does. Asher takes the chance to look at him because it is rare that he has that chance. 

Brett has the body of a well-working druid, short and sturdy, but the musculature of a lycanthrope, and the scars to match the story Asher had not needed to be told. There are thick white scars along his sides, deeper wounds along his chest and shoulders, across his belly like at some point he’d been disemboweled, or close to it. Along his shoulder, Asher can make out a particular bite, so deep that the skin where teeth had broken skin was more gnarled than the smooth, though dipped, skin of the other scars. His upper arms have bite scars, too, though less deep than on his shoulder and, as he turns to go to the bed, Asher is given the sight of his back - uniform gashes from shoulder to the base of his spine, crisscrossing in certain areas.

“Gonna stare all night or are you gonna join me?” Brett asks, a little clipped, when Asher doesn’t come to the bed and Asher blinks once, breaks his stare and goes to the other side to climb in with him.

The blankets and pillows all smell so strongly of Brett that it is almost overwhelming and he doesn’t mean to but he turns his face into one and inhales slow and deep, takes it in and lets it settle. He likes being surrounded like this.

“Did you just smell my pillow?”

“It smells like you,” Asher explains, exhaling slowly and then turning onto his side to look at him. Brett pulls the blankets up to their shoulders, leaves his arm out to rest along the top of the blankets even as Asher pulls them all up to his chin and snuggles into the mattress. While he does not sleep, he deeply appreciates a good mattress, and Brett has one of the better ones he’s tried.

This is the first time he’s ever been in Brett’s bed and he takes the time to test it, wiggle around a little to feel the give of the mattress, curls his toes into the sheets and smiles slowly at how nice it all feels.

“Comfortable?” Brett asks, raising an amused eyebrow at him and Asher nods, pleased.

“You have a good bed.”

“I try, I guess,” Brett shrugs and then reaches over to turn the lamp out. Immediately the room is bathed in darkness, though Asher can see perfectly well. He’s sure Brett can, too, with his enhanced eyesight.

Brett settles back down and Asher does, too. He won’t move from this spot until it is time to go, but that is okay. He hadn’t had any other plans for the night and Brett’s face was a good subject to focus on, even for a few hours. 

But Brett is maybe not as comfortable because, after a moment of silence, he sighs and shifts a little and then reaches out and tugs at Asher’s wrist. “If we’re gonna sleep together, we might as well sleep together. Come’re,”

He goes willingly, if a little confused, until Brett nudges him into turning over to face away from him, and then Brett snakes a warm, strong arm around his waist and tugs him back until he’s snug against Brett’s body. He could feel all of him; the faintest bulge against his lower back, the warmth of his chest against Asher’s back, the hand pressed to his belly, Brett’s breath against his shoulder and the back of his neck. 

This was much nicer than just lying on the mattress. 

“Good night,” Brett mumbles, lips soft against his shoulder, and Asher can’t find his voice to respond but he clutches the hand on his belly between both his own, lightly kisses Brett’s fingers and enjoys the feeling of being held for the rest of the night.

-

Brett snores. It’s not loud, but it is a steady in-and-out that would lull Asher into a relaxed stillness if only he were able to stop thinking about what might happen come morning.

In the hours that Brett sleeps, Asher thinks of every possibility, from Brett making him breakfast and sending him on his way to Brett giving him what he asked for, and he knows which one he would prefer. 

It happens around eight in the morning, which he knows because he has begun counting seconds to distract himself from his thoughts, and it is only because he’s familiar with sleeping next to Trevor that he does not think it strange. Brett is flush to his back, legs tucked under Asher’s, and his groin is snug against him so it is no surprise that he starts to harden against Asher’s lower back. It’s normal for humanoid beings, as far as Asher has researched, and Trevor has never acted oddly about it outside of his embarrassment the first time he’d woken up hard against Asher. 

Something stirs in Asher’s belly, wanting, but he easily ignores it. There will be time for that when Brett wakes up, if he wants it.

-

Brett wakes up an hour later, blinking his eyes open slowly. Asher feels his eyelashes flutter against his shoulder, knows he’s awake before even that because he feels his body tense and then relax again. Brett doesn’t spring away from him like Trevor did the first time they slept together. Just hums, low and quiet, into Asher’s skin, rubs his stubbly face against the back of Asher’s neck, and pulls his arm back from where it had been resting across his waist to press his palm to Asher’s soft stomach. 

“G’mornin’,” he rumbles, voice rough, and Asher’s chest goes warm. He frowns, isn’t sure if he likes whatever is welling up in his chest just from the sound of Brett’s voice. It’s kind of like how he feels about Trevor and Anna, but still different. He likes Brett, that is why they’re in a romantic relationship, but this is…more than he’d expected. 

“Good morning,” he says, carefully touching Brett’s hand on his stomach and rests his own hand on top, “You slept peacefully. Nothing came near your home.”

“Wow,” Brett chuckles, more air than sound, scratches pleasantly at Asher’s stomach with his short nails and Asher finds himself stretching so Brett has more room to scratch at without really thinking about it. “You’re like a watchdog. You even like to cuddle.”

“I am an angel, Brett,” Asher looks over his shoulder as best he can but Brett just ducks his head and laughs again, the same quiet huff of breath against his back. 

“I know, bud,” he says, still sounding amused for some reason. The scratching is gentle and rhythmic, and it doesn’t distract Asher but it is nice, and he makes a discontented noise when Brett’s fingers come to a stop so Brett starts up again. He doesn’t move his hips away from Asher’s, leaves his groin flush to the curve of Asher’s spine, and it’s almost a comfort. That Brett doesn’t pull away.

They stay like that for a long time, fourteen minutes and thirty one seconds exactly, before Brett speaks up again.

“You rethink anything?”

“No,” Asher closes his eyes and focuses on Brett’s nails gently dragging slow circles along his stomach, “I have not. Have you?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Brett says, “And I don’t like purposefully causing pain. But I do want to have sex with you, and if it’s something you want, too, then…we can try it. Maybe the knot comes out, maybe it doesn’t. Also, most people, you know, they don’t just. Come out with something like a knot in the middle of a convo, just a heads up.”

“I do not speak regularly with being who have knots aside from you, but I’ll remember that.”

“Great, thanks.” Brett sighs, but he doesn’t stop moving his hand and Asher finds himself stretching out again, wanting him to cover more skin without having to ask. Brett seems to get the message because he makes his circles bigger, presses a kiss to Asher’s neck and then another to his shoulder and another to the spot between the two. Asher tilts his head back, gives him more space to touch and makes an approving noise when he does. 

“What about a date,” Asher asks, quiet, reaching back to tangle his fingers in the soft curls at the base of Brett’s neck. He’s seen Trevor do it before and Brett always looks happy when he does and Asher wants to try to get that look out of him, too.

“We can go on a date,” Brett agrees, “You want to do that before? Do things the proper way?”

“No,” Asher says honestly, “But I will if you would prefer a date, first.”

“I’m not a romantic,” Brett drops his voice, grinds his hips against Asher gently, more a roll of his hips than anything, as if he’s worried he might scare Asher off.

“Yes, you are,” Asher argues, but he moves a hand to Brett’s hip, careful not to hold too tight, and just wiggles his own hips a little in an attempt to stimulate him. Brett groans, trailing off into another chuckle that makes Asher’s skin horripilate. 

“You’re not shy, are you?”

“Should I be?”

“No,” Brett grinds against him, harder, and Asher doesn’t need to breathe but he gasps into his own arm at the feeling all the same. “How do you like it? Back? Stomach? On top?”

“It would be easier for you if I was on my stomach, right?” Asher wiggles again, this time to turn onto his stomach, “Does this work?”

“It works,” Brett takes over the scratching circles along his back, across his shoulders and down his spine until a sudden shiver is forced out of him, “But is it what you like best?”

Asher stops to think, unsure. He and Trevor have sex in a number of different positions, he and Anna in even more, but neither of them have ever asked him to name a preferred one aside from wanna ride me? He didn’t think he had a favorite, but one immediately comes to mind so he says it.

“I want to see you.”

“Yeah?” Brett noses at his arm, kisses across the tattoo there, “Okay. We can make that work. Turn over. I need to go get the lube and brush my teeth, so…just. Get comfortable.”

He turns over when Brett sits up to make room for him, blankets tangling tightly around his hips until he kicks them off. Brett climbs out of the bed and heads into his bathroom, closing the door behind him, so Asher takes the opportunity to kick off not only the blankets, but his borrowed pants, too. It feels…odd to be naked without Trevor or Anna around, but Brett is right at his side, and Asher enjoys that. He wants to share this body with Brett, too.

Brett turns comes back a few minutes later, a tall bottle in his hand, but stops in the middle of the room when he catches sight of Asher. His mouth falls open, eyes going a little wide, and Asher may not know social cues but he can recognize arousal, at least, so he stretches out and relaxes into the mattress, lets Brett look as much as he wants.

Brett’s eyes devour him, from his chest to his thighs and everywhere in between and Asher can see him try to keep himself from zeroing in on his groin, because Brett is a gentleman. It’s amusing and only adds to the fondness building up in him as he waits for Brett to join him.

“I think you need to get rid of your pants, too,” he points out, pleased when Brett has to blink a few times before he actually does as asked and shoves his pants down.

Brett has much more body hair than Trevor does. His skin is a warmer color, an undertone of olive, with a layer of hair starting near his clavicle and continuing down to his groin, where it curls and frames his penis. His thighs are not as covered, but Asher still reaches out when Brett is within arm’s length and runs his palm over one muscular thigh to feel the difference between the two of them, with his light splattering. 

Brett kisses him for the first time when he’s leaning over Asher, cradled between his legs with their stomachs warm and pressed together. He tastes like mint when Asher kisses him, his tongue almost sharp with it, a brisk cold even as he’s warm against Asher’s tongue. Brett catches his bottom lip, nips it and then kisses him again properly, tilting Asher’s head back until he feels surrounded. He’s the most powerful being Brett has probably ever come into contact with outside of Anna, but Brett makes him feel small in a really nice way. 

His stubble scrapes along Asher’s cheeks, his breathing just a little labored as he grips at Asher’s hip, drags his hand to clutch at his thigh. He’s resting an arm in the bed, muscle flexed by Asher’s head, and he has the almost irresistible urge to feel it, cup his hand around Brett’s bicep and squeeze to see if it gives. Instead, he keeps his hands on the mattress, clutching tight at the blankets. He worries that if he touches Brett he might lose control and possibly hurt him. 

It’s a slick kiss, cold with mint but fast warming between their lips and tongues, and Brett may have been cautious about sex but he is all-consuming like this, pinning Asher under him and touching him like there’s no reason he shouldn’t.

Asher could have continued forever, more interesting in slowly working their lips together, in sucking at Brett’s tongue and nipping at his lips, than in breathing, but Brett has to pull away eventually. When he does, he’s panting and his face is a little flushed. Asher has to blink his eyes open to see that, though, and he doesn’t remember closing them in the first place.

Brett tilts their foreheads together and Asher has kissed Brett before, more than a few times at this point, but this feels so newly intimate, the both of them naked and pressed together with Brett’s erection against his belly, his firm thigh between Asher’s. He holds tighter to the sheets, feels his heart beat and thinks that it should calm itself but can’t find it in himself to take the steps necessary to do so.

“Ash,” Brett says, a raspy whisper that makes Asher open his eyes, again. Brett’s irises are dark, his pupils dilated, and he makes Asher look at him while he catches his breath, their mouths so close they would be sharing the air if Asher could make his body function. Most people shy away when Asher looks at them like this but Brett never has and he doesn’t now; he uses the hand that isn’t clutching Asher’s thigh to tilt up Asher’s chin and hold him in place so Brett can kiss him again, another claiming kiss that has him working his fingers into the sheets in an attempt to keep himself under control. 

“You’re allowed to touch me,” Brett says against his lips, spreading his fingers out along Asher’s thigh and trailing it back up to his hip, then back down, repeating the movement, “Anywhere you want.”

“I don’t,” Asher has to pause to swallow around the lump in his throat, “I am very strong and you are overwhelming. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You’re a walking ego trip,” Brett huff’s out a small laugh, “And I’d say you won’t but I’ve seen you crush a skull with a bare hand so just…be careful. But I want you to touch me. Here,” he lets go of Asher’s chin and finds one of his hands. His fingers gentle the sheets from where Asher has wrapped them tightly between his and then guide the hand up his side and then his back. Asher flattens his palm against the warm skin, feels the muscles and bone and sinew shifting under his touch, and carefully presses down with the pads of his fingers in a slow drag down Brett’s back. It must feel good because Brett sighs and it’s warm against Asher’s lips. 

Brett kisses him again and Asher responds with an enthusiasm that would make him uncomfortable if he were to think on it for long. 

They lay in Brett’s bed together, naked and Brett a little sweaty from sleep and how high he burns in the first place, exploring each other for a length of time that Asher does not keep track of. Instead, he tracks the way Brett responds to his touch. The way Brett kisses him, slow and intense and a little scratchy from his stubble. The way he touches Asher like he’s something to be taken care of it. His hands are big and rough from working with tools and Asher can feel his power under his skin, can feel freshly churned earth and fragile roots and blooming buds all in how Brett smooths his palms across his abdomen.

Even though Brett was the one who woke with an erection, it is Asher who experimentally rolls his hips first. Tongues twined, both hands feeling along Brett’s back, he sets his feet flat on the mattress and flexes his hips up to stimulate himself against Brett’s stomach. He’s expecting Brett to laugh again, or say something, but Brett just pulls back to take a breath then leans down for another kiss. Asher feels his thighs tense and feels Brett brace himself on his knees where Asher’s feet are pressed to his leg and he rocks against Asher’s hip. It sets a rhythm between them, their hips working together in slow, grinding rolls that have Brett kissing him harder, just a little rougher. One of his teeth bite into Asher’s lip and he can only assume it is an accident but he moans before he can stop himself, the slightest pinprick making him shiver. 

“Good,” Brett sighs against his cheek the next time he has to break away, “Good, good, this is - this is good. Are you good?”

“I am good,” Asher swallows, unnecessary but involuntary, “I like this. Can we continue?”

“Yeah,” Brett kisses his jaw, nips down to his throat. There is no point in leaving marks, they disappear within minutes, but Brett still nuzzles closer to his throat and Asher feels sharp teeth press to his skin. Perhaps because Brett is a lycanthrope and his body, if not his mind, can feel the danger of such a position, but another shiver wracks through him. Though it would do nothing, Asher wishes Brett would bite down. A lycanthrope’s bite might take longer than a day to heal and Asher would have marks to remember this moment by, after the rest of his body reverted to its original state. 

“Yeah,” Brett continues when he is satisfied with his marks, “We can keep going. Do you stretch yourself? Actually, let me do it.”

“Okay,” Asher agrees and hands Brett the bottle he had set aside when climbing into bed, “What should I do?” 

“Just, uh,” Brett sits back on his knees and Asher nearly pulls him back down. The rush of air against his skin is uncomfortable and he misses the contact they had been sharing almost immediately. His face must show his displeasure because Brett grins, big and smug, and parts Asher’s knees a little more with both hands as he talks, “Lay back and relax. Tell me if anything hurts okay? This is gonna take a while but that’s what you gotta do.” 

“I can be patient,” Asher sets his hands down on the bed again, thinks of something Trevor sometimes does that always makes heat flare in his stomach, and puts his hands above his head, instead. He stretches out, lets Brett have a full view of him, and can tell that it works because he can hear Brett’s heart skip a beat, hear the way his uneven breathing hitches. Interesting. 

“Too much time with Trevor,” he says, a touch rough, and pumps almost a full handful of lubricant from the bottle. 

“That is…a lot.” Asher says, because it is.

“Yep,” Brett agrees, rubbing it between both hands like it’s soap. It almost immediately starts to drip, landing along Asher’s stomach and groin, matting the curly hair above his penis. It’s cool, cool enough to make his muscles jump, but Brett keeps rubbing his hands together until, when he sets them on Asher’s thighs again, it is pleasantly warm. “Grab a pillow for me and put it under your hips.”

“You will get lubricant on it,” Asher warns but he grabs one and lifts himself up to push it in place. When he relaxes again, his hips are angled a little better and Brett ignores his comment to slide slick hands across his inner thighs. His thumbs dig into the joining of his legs to his thighs, rub slow circles in as he works his way down past Asher’s testis. He presses one firmly against Asher’s perineum and drags it down to his anus, and something about the touch makes Asher’s stomach swoop hard enough that he has to close his eyes to the image of Brett looking down at him. The room is only lit by morning peeking through the window blinds and everything is soft grays from the shadow. Brett looks nice in this light, the rays slicing his skin into thin streams of sunlit brightness and the shadow-pale tan of his skin and, with his touch on parts of Asher that Asher knows are intimate, Asher can’t look at him.

Brett, unlike Anna and Trevor, does not tease. Instead, he presses the pad of one finger to Asher’s anus and then past the first and then the second ring of muscle, keeps moving until his knuckles are pressed to the skin of Asher’s cheeks and he can’t press in farther. The glide is easy, Asher is used to the feeling, but Brett has nice fingers - calloused but delicate even as they are big.

Asher furrows his brows, clutches his hands together above his head and grips the edge of the mattress instead.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” He says, licking his lips, “Please keep going.”

“Keep me updated, bud,” Brett pats his hip with his other hand and begins to withdraw his finger. He does not go far, just back to the second knuckle, before he presses back in to the hilt again. It’s a steady movement, withdrawing and then returning, bending his knuckle to stretch Asher’s anus out and prepare his inner walls. Everything is very slick and very heated, Brett’s hands hot enough to almost burn him, his free hand never stilling as it slides along his thighs before gripping his penis in a relaxed, warm hold. 

“I imagine you’re capable of going more than once,” Brett says, “So lemme just…”

And then it is the work of two stimulants, Brett’s finger inside of him and his hand loosely pumping his shaft, and Asher lies on the mattress and clutches its edge and wonders why his lungs are forcing him to bring air in when he does not need it.

Asher once again loses track of time as he lets Brett prepare him, enjoys the feeling of being touched far too immensely to even passively notice the passage of time around them. Instead, he talks. Softly, as not to distract Brett, but silence has never been Asher’s favorite atmosphere and even with the sounds of the lubricant and Brett’s soft breathing, Asher has had more than enough of it for the time being.

He tells Brett how it feels, because Trevor seems to like that and he can only hope that Brett will as well, but he also says everything that comes to mind. Most of it is about Brett, because Brett is all that he can think of at the moment; about the light playing games against his skin, the magic he feels thrumming through him, how Asher likes his laugh. He only stops when he feels Brett withdraw his finger completely; worries that he’s messed up but Brett doesn’t stop stroking his erection with that same firm, gentle touch.

“Keep going,” Brett encourages, “I should have known you’d be a talker.”

“A talker?”

“You like to talk,” Brett runs his fingers through the still-slick puddle that has formed between Asher’s thighs and then reaches back between his cheeks, two fingers now rubbing small circles against his anus before slowly pressing inside. It’s a bigger stretch than before, though it does not hurt. “Go on. Keep talking. I’m listening.”

“None of it is…important,” He wants to open his eyes but that feels…dangerous, somehow. He keeps them closed, holds onto the mattress just a little harder. He knows he is close to breaking it and then Brett will be angry, but it’s the only way to release the tension slowly building in his body.

“I think it is,” Brett disagrees, twisting his fingers a little. He brushes along Asher’s prostate and it’s another involuntary movement, but his hips jerk and he moans, low and cut off. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” Asher nods, wiggling his hips a little to try to get him to do it again, “I want more of that.”

“I can do more of that,” Brett says, sounding amused, and does more of that.

He gets Asher talking again not long after, but he joins him this time. A slow, halting conversation as Asher pauses to inhale because his body is betraying him once again, but one that Brett participates in even as his hands never pause in their work. 

Asher doesn’t feel any sort of haste at all, not from his own body and not from Brett. Like Brett could spend the rest of the day doing just this, stretching his fingers out inside of Asher and nudging against his prostate every few gentle thrusts. Asher has the feeling that, if he asked, Brett could bring him to orgasm with a few quick jerks of his hand. Instead, they both settle into the softness. Asher can’t touch Brett, so he tells him about what he wants to touch, how he wants to touch him and why, and Brett laughs and promises he can. Every time Asher asks, Brett promises that he can. However much he wants.

There’s a moment where Asher opens his eyes and gazes at Brett for just a second before he has to close them again. If humans had Grace, Asher thinks that Brett’s would be blinding. 

Brett pulls his fingers out again to pump more lubricant into his palm and returns with three fingers and then a fourth some time later. None of it hurts, or even pulls too intensely, because Brett demands the time to do it right and Asher gives it to him without hesitation. It feels incredible, having Brett inside of him and touching him, having his voice telling him he’s doing great, that he looks beautiful, that he feels perfect. He touches him more like Anna than Trevor, with the confidence that he knows exactly what he’s doing and knows that Asher will like it. With Anna, though, Asher knows there are still things that they’re learning together. There’s none of that with Brett, or maybe he just isn’t as open about not being as experienced as he first appears, like Anna is.

“Maybe,” Brett says, spreading all four fingers wide enough that Asher arches with a cry, heels digging into the bed, “You should stop trying to analyze everything and just enjoy it.”

“I don’t analyze,” Asher defends, dropping back down with a thump, legs trembling just the smallest amount, “I’m making observations.”

“No more observations,” Brett readjusts his grip around Asher’s penis, works his hand from base to tip in a tight hold that makes Asher lose his voice. “I’m about to give you something you’ve never had before so there’s no point in comparing.” 

“Conceited.” Asher says around a heavy tongue.

“Confident.” Brett corrects him, slowly pulling his fingers out for the last time. “And correct. How many knots have you taken, Ash?”

“None,” Asher admits, opening his eyes now that he feels he’s in better control of himself without Brett inside him, “But I am excited to try it now.” 

“Exactly,” Brett pumps another handful between his palms, rubs them together for a few seconds before reaching between his own legs to slick himself.

He has not been touched, as far as Asher knows, since Brett started to stretch him so Asher watches the way his face shifts minutely as he touches himself. It’s almost pained, drawn eyebrows, lips firmly together. Finally, though, he finishes, and uses the edge of the sheets to wipe his hands off while Asher waits.

“I’m thinking we’ll start like this,” Brett says when he’s ready, setting a hand on Asher’s knee, “Until everything’s…good. Then we’ll get you on top and you can control things from there. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Asher lets go of the mattress and holds a pillow instead, intent on not breaking anything this time. Trevor has still not forgiven him for ruining his mattress, and Brett is much more aggressive in his displeasure. 

“Oh, shit, uh,” Brett sits back a little more, “Do you want condoms? Angelic condoms?”

“I am not at risk for any sexually transmitted diseases, nor can I become pregnant, Brett.”

“Hardy har, halo boy. I meant for when I - you know, when I get off. I’ll be tied in you, so my pull out game isn’t gonna be top tier.” 

“That is,” Asher blinks, “The point, I believe, of knots.”

“Oh my god,”

“Brett,” Asher wrinkles up his nose, “Don’t bring up my Father in a time like this, please.”

“All I want to know,” Brett says through a deep breath, “Is if you mind getting come in your guts or not, dude.” 

It’s a funny line, delivered with the deadpan stare that Asher has come to associate with Brett even when he is being sincere, and Asher finds himself laughing as he reaches out for Brett’s shoulders and pulls him back down to kiss him again. It’s not as deep or intense as the last few, more surface level with Asher’s grin against Brett’s lips as Brett tries not to smile.

“No,” Asher says between kissing him, cupping at Brett’s cheeks to keep him from moving away again, “I don’t mind. Please continue.”

“Please continue, he says,” Brett mutters, shuffling closer to Asher until they’re flush again. Asher feels a hand under his knee, urging him, so he follows Brett’s quiet request and lets him lift his leg up and bend his knee. 

He kisses Brett again, wants to be totally connected when he presses in, and Asher sucks Brett’s bottom lip between his when he feels him reach between the two of them.

There’s a semi-familiar touch against his anus, then pressure, and he gasps into the kiss despite himself and pulls Brett’s face closer, whining his feelings against Brett’s mouth as he feels his body yield.

Brett is thicker than Trevor, thick enough that Asher has to recalibrate what his body thought it knew to be coming. He stops almost as soon as he is past the head, kissing along Asher’s face and jaw, catching the corners of his lips and Asher wants to talk, to tell Brett what it’s like, to express himself but he can’t find the words. He can only clutch at Brett’s cheeks and then his arms and brace his shoulders against the bed when Brett gets a better grip on him and starts to roll his body in little motions that steadily work him deeper.

Everything is so slick that the only resistance is Asher tensing up too much for Brett to continue, but Brett doesn’t try to shove through the tension. Instead, he frames Asher’s head with both arms, cards a hand through his short hair and then gets a good grip in it and tilt’s Asher’s face up so he can kiss him again.

Asher pulls at his shoulders, eventually hooks his arms around Brett’s neck and holds him so close that he can feel Brett’s heartbeat against his chest. He thinks about staying still, letting Brett take his time, but he’s vibrating with energy, with want, and he wants.

It’s Brett’s turn to moan, a little high, against Asher’s lips when he hooks a leg around Brett’s and bears down, a slow and steady descent until he reaches the base, which flares out too wide for even four fingers’ worth of stretching to easily take.

“Feel it?” Brett breathes out, tugging Asher’s hair a little when he doesn’t respond. It’s enough to make him moan again, wanting more, and Brett grunts when he flexes around him, trying to convince him to move.

He’s stretched wide enough that Brett’s nudged up against his prostate; he feels so full that he might burst, like Brett’s so deep in him that Asher isn’t sure if he’ll ever really come out. It’s close to how his first time with Trevor had felt, that sense of being filled in a way that Asher had never been filled before, though not as immediately overwhelming now that he’s familiar with it.

“I want to feel it better,” Asher decides to say, “So move.”

“Getting bossy now, huh?” Brett teases him, but he does as asked. The first drag out is - almost torture. It leaves Asher feeling impossibly empty deep inside of him and he hates it, never wants to feel it again, even as he knows that Brett will return. He feels his body holding Brett, not wanting to let him go, but Brett denies its pleas and continues to withdraw until Asher can only feel the head of him, and he pushes back inside. 

Brett makes these soft little grunting noises every time he thrusts in, too short to be moans, too quiet for Asher to call them anything but grunts. He’s otherwise quiet, focusing on holding Asher’s hair and supporting himself on his other arm, on keeping his thrusts measured and steady. Every withdraw is calculated, every thrust back into place the perfect mix of force and tenderness. There’s a high probability that Asher is biased, that Brett could be the worst in the world at intercourse and he’d still love it. But Asher doesn’t particularly care if he is biased. He always stops when Asher reaches the extended tissue at the bottom of his penis, never tries to push farther in, but Asher wishes he would. Knows that it will come and is ready for it.

For now, though, Asher just holds onto Brett’s shoulders, runs his fingers along his back, works his body to meet Brett’s thrust for thrust, fills the silence Brett’s left behind with bitten off sighs of his own thoughts.

Brett’s face flushes slowly, his breathing picking up the longer their bodies move together. But Brett never gets impatient or rough, just stays with those measured, perfect thrusts that drive the air from Asher’s lungs, that make Asher see stars in the shadowed eggshell white of Brett’s ceiling. 

At some point, Brett kisses him again. Parts Asher’s lips with his tongue, licks into his mouth with an attitude that he belongs there, and pulls at one of Asher’s legs until it’s tucked closer to Brett’s hip. Their stomachs are pressed together, the soft give of Asher’s vessel against the pudge covering the hard muscle of Brett’s middle, capturing Asher’s erection perfectly between the two and giving him as much stimulation as he cares to process. It’s all…good. It’s good, and it blanks his mind until all he can think of is where they’re touching, the way Brett is forcing his body to bend to him, the beauty of their connection, the slightest wish that Trevor and Anna were here to share this with the two of them. He wants to stay like this forever and wants to feel Brett losing control at the same time, wants to flip them over and take what he wants and wants to let Brett continue to spoil him for as long as he likes. Wants to keep these long, steady thrusts that stoke the arousal and pleasure in his stomach, wants to feel his body giving into Brett’s knot all at once.

There’s so much he wants that he can’t even pick. Instead, he lets Brett decide. Kisses him hungrily when Brett starts it, spreads his legs wider so Brett has room, holds him tightly in his arms, squeezing gently along his back to encourage him, panting his name between their mouths every time Brett breaks away to breathe. The physical pleasure comes from the stimulation to his penis and the nerves Brett comes into contact with, but there’s a deeper, more transcendental pleasure that comes from sharing this moment with someone he cares deeply for. A kind of soulful happiness that starts in his chest and branches out until he feels it in his very Grace. 

“What’s that noise?” Brett asks, a little out of breath, coming to a stop with a confused look on his face, “It - did a bird get into my house?”

“A bird?” Asher doesn’t bother pretending that he is willing to stop and figure things out, uses the grip he has on Brett’s leg to nudge him back in, rocking his hips up to meet halfway. “Nothing besides ourselves and your plants are alive in this house,”

“Can’t you,” Brett groans, picks back up a steady grind that appeases Asher enough that he stops pulling at Brett’s shoulders, “I hear wings -”

It’s only when Brett points it out that Asher realizes. His wings transcend planes but he’s lost focus and allowed hints of them to peek through. They’re fluttering, vibrating with happiness as intensely as he is, feathers ruffling even as they pinch under him and against the mattress. 

“Oh,” He manages, and then laughs. “Oh, those are mine.”

“They’re yours?” Brett almost stops again but a whiny grumble of his name gets him back into that distracted grind. It’s not enough for Asher to be overwhelmed by, not like what the strokes from before were heading toward, but it’s not nothing, either. 

“I thought they were supposed to blind people,” Brett asks, sounding confused. Asher can’t blame him; humans are fragile and not much would protect Brett from Asher if, for some reason, Asher were to release his Grace. 

“They can,” he admits, nudging kisses against Brett’s shoulder to try convincing him to get back to work, “If I want them to. But my Grace is masked, they would look like avian wings to your eyes if I were to release them.”

“Why are they flapping like that?” Brett pushes up on his hands, frowning at him, “Does laying on your back hurt them?” 

“No,” Asher shakes his head, tugging fruitlessly in an attempt to make him come back. “They are in another plane of existence. They’re reacting to my emotional state.”

“Your wings flap when you’re turned on?”

“When I’m happy, idiot,” Asher corrects, and then watches Brett’s face go from a faint pink to a burning red almost instantaneously.

“You,” Brett starts, sounding just a little pleased, “You can’t just - say things like that, what the fuck, Asher.”

“What?” Asher frowns at him, “About my wings?”

“Never mind,” Brett shakes his head, finally leans back down so he’s in Asher’s space, wets his lips against Asher’s jawline and picks up his thrusting again. “I wanna see them.”

“My wings?” Asher asks, thrown by the sudden shift.

“Yeah, I wanna - I wanna see ‘em. You said they’d look like bird wings? I wanna see them.”

“But,” Asher gets out just before Brett nails his prostate so fully that he spasms up toward him, back arching, wings snapping out so suddenly that he knocks over one of Brett’s lamps on his bedside table. Brett doesn’t even pause.

It’s harder now, faster, like the seemingly endless reserve of patience Brett has been drawing from has begun to run dry. Asher finds himself gasping out Brett’s name, high moans being punched from his core and out through his voice. The top of the bed hits the wall with every thrust, the soft sound from before turning into a much firmer thump-thump-thump that makes Asher’s stomach go tight with heat for reasons he doesn’t think he could say out loud.

Each time, Brett’s thrusts end prematurely, Asher’s body taking him just up to where his knot begins before pulling back out. It feels like Asher comes just that little bit closer to taking it every time and he can feel the frustration in Brett’s fingers where he’s holding his hair and cupping his face as they kiss.

Finally, finally, there’s a second. A split second where Asher uses his legs to push Brett in deeper and Brett lurches forward and Asher feels his body split open a bit, accept just the first bit of stretch for his knot, and Brett bites his lip hard enough that Asher cries out.

“On top,” Brett pulls away, still his hips and kissing at the bitten lip with sweet pecks meant to apologize, “C’mon, on top, we’ll get you to take it and I wanna see those wings -”

“I could -” Asher shakes his head but he can’t find it in his body to argue when Brett starts to tug at his legs, gets a good hold on his hip and uses it to nudge them both into flipping over, “I could lose control, I could burn your eyes out of your skull if I lose -”

“You won’t,” Brett interrupts, succeeding in lifting Asher off the bed and rolling the two of them until he’s on his back and Asher is snuggly in place on his lap, just trying to catch his breath because his body refuses to accept that he doesn’t need it. It must be a psychophysiological response to the similar exertion of his partner because he does this with Trevor, too, but not with Anna. With Anna, even when things get intense it is never as sweaty, never as hard to breath, even as she makes him lose his mind. Or it’s possibly an effect of being penetrated? Anna possesses a vessel with a vagina and Asher is usually the penetrator during their intercourse, while both Brett and Trevor have -

“Hey,” Brett taps his cheek with his hand, forces him to focus on his face, “What did we talk about? No fucking analyzing. No observing. Now pop out those bad boys and sit on my knot.”

“Somehow, that was not a convincing line,” Asher grimaces, sitting up with his hands on Brett’s stomach and carefully repositioning his legs from around Brett’s to supporting himself on either side of his hips, instead. Brett is still buried inside him and Asher knows, objectively, that gravity would have allowed only a miniscule amount of additional length but it somehow feels as if Brett is deeper than before. 

“Come on, Ash,” Brett whines, sounding put out, “I’m putting my weird dick thing out in the relationship, it’s only fair.”

“Your knot is a natural part of your lycanthropic biology, it is not a weird dick thing,” Asher reaches back, finally gets the chance to touch Brett’s penis. There’s essentially nothing of the shaft exposed for him to press his fingers against, but he takes just a second to feel the knot at his base. There is no chance that he would be able to touch fingertips if he tried to wrap his fist around it and the skin is hot and smooth. He can feel it pulsing with Brett’s heartbeat, feel the heat it radiates, and Asher watches the way his touch makes Brett’s face go pained and intense, the way it makes Brett’s teeth clench. “But. I guess I can. Show mine, since you showed me yours.”

He lets go of Brett’s knot, takes a deep breath and, as he exhales, allows his wings to materialize.

He is careful, so careful that he almost forgets about the penis inside of him as he focuses, but he feels them come to be, feels the feathers shift and then settle, ruffle up with his emotions but stay otherwise in place. 

“Jesus Christ,” Brett breathes out and it’s only because Asher can hear the genuine awe in his voice that he isn’t reprimanded. Jesus would understand.

It flusters him, to have Brett’s eyes so wide, full of wonder, and looking at him. He shifts, and then catches Brett’s hands when he slowly reaches out, tangles their fingers together instead. 

“That would not be…advised.” He warns, and Brett doesn’t say anything to push but he does bring Asher’s hand to his mouth to press a kiss to the back before he lets go.

“I’m gonna do this real quick,” Brett says quietly, grabs the bottle of lubricant and pumps out another, smaller, handful. He rubs his hands together again to warm it up and then sits up enough that he can reach behind Asher and touch his knot. He coats it in lubricant, even nudging Asher out of the way so he can get all the way around, and then he wipes his hands on the sheet and lays back down.

“Go slow, take your time. You control it, okay?”

“I control it?” Asher says, a little suspicious. 

“You control it,” Brett agrees, settling his hands on Asher’s hips.

Asher, nodding, lifts off a little to give himself more momentum. With his hands on Brett and his wings extended for balance, he drops down sharply and takes almost the entire knot in at once.

Brett reacts as if Asher had punched him square in the chest. It would have been a scream, had Brett’s voice not gone so high. Possibly closer to a screech, a shrill exhale of sound as his entire body jerks up so hard that the small part that Asher hadn’t managed to take pushes its way past the rings of muscle to settle within him.

Asher would like to say, later, that he’d watched Brett’s reaction with smugness. That he’d taken the knot easily and with no conflict. He’d like to say that.

The truth, though, is that he misses most of Brett’s reaction in handling his own.

It’s wider than anything he’s ever taken before, a burning heat to rival a star, resting as a heavy weight within him, an unforgiving firmness that does not shift even in the slightest to the natural curve of his inner walls. Brett’s hands clench so tight at his hips that Asher is sure, were he a human, they might fracture or crack with the force. Asher holds himself in place and takes every stimulant into his mind because he is too physically overwhelmed to continue feeling only with his body. He knows he drops his mouth open, possibly in shock, more likely to bring in unnecessary air that his lungs won’t accept. He knows that he makes a thin, reedy sort of noise around Brett’s name before he runs to of air. He knows that he bends forward until he can rest his head on Brett’s shoulder, knows his body begins to tremble as Brett’s knot fits so perfectly against his prostate that the stimulation does not begin and end but only builds on itself. 

Brett, eventually, is able to drop back down to the bed with a gasp like he’s breaking the surface of water, his chest heaving, hands forcing Asher to follow his hips down so that he stays buried to the absolute hilt within him. 

“Ash,” He rasps, “Asher, Asher, you fucking cunt,”

“Rude,” Asher says and his voice is just as wrecked. He flexes his lower body, ripples around Brett’s length, and Brett nearly wails with it, jerking his hips up into Asher again without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Don’t stop,” Brett lifts a little at his hips, tugging up, “Move, come on, sweetheart, just -”

“Sweetheart,” Asher repeats, grinding his hips down just as Brett encouraged him to, “I like that. Sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart,” Brett says again, moving into Asher’s grinding. Asher can’t lift up much, can manage only about half of the knot before Brett is either yanking him back down or his body refuses to continue, but it’s enough. Enough for them both to work against each other until Brett is covered in a thin layer of sweat and his hands are shaking where they hold Asher, one on his hip and the other going to wrap tight around his penis. Enough that Asher’s brows are drawing together, the constant press to his prostate and the hold on his own shaft finally enough to start bringing him closer to orgasm. 

When Brett’s knot starts to swell, it pushes the useless air out of his lungs all over again. What he at first understood to be large began to grow, locking their bodies together with a thick bubble of flesh, stretching him enough that there’s a brief moment he thinks he is going to tear from it. His wings work to balance him as he rides Brett, extending and then curling inward each time he tenses his walls around his knot and squeezes. He thinks a feather or two shakes loose from how intensely they’re vibrating from the energy coursing through him, falling soundlessly to Brett’s floor and bed to be lost in the sheets.

“Asher,” Brett says his name like a prayer, that same wonder in his voice as exists in his eyes, “Asher, can I - your wings, I want to - can I touch them?”

Asher, with Brett’s body tied to his and Brett’s skin under his palms, in Brett’s bed in Brett’s house, with Brett touching him so tenderly, with the taste of him in his mouth and his pleasure at his fingertips, can’t deny him.

“Just, just for a second, don’t - it will hurt, if you touch them for too long,” he collapses against Brett’s chest, the knot pulling a little uncomfortably before Brett gets his feet under them both and resituates. He lets go of Asher’s penis now that it’s cradled between their stomachs again, presses a palm to his lower back to hold him in place as he starts to thrust once more. He can’t leave Asher’s body, but there’s a borderline-painful tug from the inside that makes his body quake, has his muscles tensing and his toes curling, has his testes drawing up with impending orgasm, and it must feel good for Brett because he chants Asher’s name in a stuttering, low tone that makes Asher’s heart race. Asher guides his other hand from his hip, up his back until, with the slightest pause, he lets Brett bury his fingers in the feathers of his right wing.

It’s an almost instantaneous reaction. They both go tense, like two wires being crossed. It’s all Asher can do to slap a hand over Brett’s eyes, feels his Grace nearly explode as he yells with release, Brett’s fingers as close to touching what makes him him as they will ever be. Brett releases inside of him, first nothing and then a sudden, intense stream of warmth that fills Asher with nowhere else to go. He had known that Brett would ejaculate excessively but was not expecting…this. Brett is still gentle with him, though, rocking Asher’s body as he orgasms, fingers still clutching desperately at his feathers as he cries Asher’s name.

It goes on for a small eternity, the two of them shaking against each other, Brett spilling himself inside Asher and Asher pressing his forehead to Brett’s shoulder and sobbing his thanks. It’s only when they are finally able to go limp that Asher realizes his eyes have overflowed and he’s wet Brett’s shoulder with tears. 

“This is normal,” he says, throat burning, voice cracking, before he’s even removed his hand from Brett’s eyes, “This happens every time.”

“Are you,” Brett has to clear his throat, sounds like he’s swallowed every grain of sand in the world, “Are you crying?”

“It’s normal,” Asher carefully removes his hand. He feels - too full to properly move, so he lets Brett drape his arms across his back, lets his wings disappear back to their home plane as Brett rubs those same soothing circles from before into his lower back. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m just. I’m - emotionally compromised. Humans feel so much. How do you do anything?”

“You get used to it,” Brett clears his throat again, blinks open his eyes and looks at Asher with a dopey, pleased grin. “Hey, look. I, uh,” he picks up one of Asher’s feathers, slowly twists it between his fingers for the two of them to see, “I guess I fucked the feathers off you, huh?”

“We are tied together,” Asher wrinkles up his nose, “Don’t make jokes until I can leave the room in protest.”

“No promises, halo boy,” Brett kisses him, just once, and then again, and then again and again, short and sweet kisses that Asher finds himself chasing Brett’s lips for more of. “We’re stuck together for at least half an hour. Expect all the shitty jokes I’ve got until then.”

“No, please,” Asher deadpans, “Spare me.”

“Spear you?”

“Stop.” 

Brett just wiggles his eyebrows at him, still grinning too brightly for his own good. Asher has to kiss him again.

Later, after Brett has helped Asher slowly, carefully, twist around until they’ve curled up together with Brett’s chest to his back and Brett’s big hand held protectively against his stomach, like he is ready to defend his seed, Asher cradles one of his feathers between his own hands. 

The white is so pale that it is nearly translucent. Along the very edges, a black so deep it reminds him of the ones he had sewn into Anna’s wings so long ago.

-

“So?” Anna asks, when next they lay together, in a field somewhere in an untouched place, where the flowers bloom endlessly and there is a small family of deer grazing close by without fear, “Was it good?”

“Yes,” Asher says immediately, stroking through her feathers as he remembers, “Give it a try. Brett is…skilled.”

“Skilled, hm?” She teases, her voice playful, her smile like the sun as she looks down at him, “He must be, to put that look on your face. Well, tell me about it, then!” 

Face red, remembering the way Brett had held him afterward, the stars he’d seen with Brett inside of him, he did.


End file.
